


Choice

by Illyria_Lives



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyria_Lives/pseuds/Illyria_Lives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, how do I look?" Armand spread his arms on either side.  Vivienne had a keen eye, and the clothes were well-suited to Armand.  Nothing too flashy, but not too simple, either.  Perfect for the leader of the Inquisition.  "New clothes, new me," he joked.</p><p>Dorian couldn’t let the moment pass.  ”You’d look much better out of them.”</p><p>Armand’s smile gleamed.  ”Oh, don’t you tempt me, mage.  We’ve got work to do, after all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, so I always feel iffy writing fanfic for characters we haven't met yet, but oh, how I love doing it anyway. This entire scenario, by the by, is inspired/based on the released information for the ball at Halamshiral we get to see in-game.

Armand Trevelyan had not reacted well to being told that he was not permitted to wear armor to the ball in honor of the Empress’s recent victory at Jader. And when Vivienne had continued on to inform him that he was also not allowed to accessorize his non-armored finery with his sword and shield, he had gotten a jumbled look on his face that was murderous around the mouth but like a kicked mabari puppy around the eyes. But the First Enchanter would not budge. No, she would not.

It was all rather amusing to watch, and Dorian had to admit the sight of the Inquisitor in somber silks and jewels was well worth how ever much Armand had sighed and pouted about it. Such a show of finery was also accompanied by his normally disheveled hair being wrangled into submission, and the removal of the latest of his attempts to grow a beard from his face. If all it took for him to shave was a forced ball, then by the Maker Dorian was prepared to force him to go to a ball every other week.

"Well, how do I look?" Armand spread his arms on either side. Vivienne had a keen eye, and the clothes were well-suited to Armand. Nothing too flashy, but not too simple, either. Perfect for the leader of the Inquisition. "New clothes, new me," he joked.

Dorian couldn’t let the moment pass. ”You’d look much better out of them.”

Armand’s smile gleamed. ”Oh, don’t you tempt me, mage. We’ve got work to do, after all.”

"Work that will not involve you stabbing anyone." Vivienne cut in, entering the room in her own gown and adornments. Dorian had to almost shield his eyes from the magnificence of it all. Perhaps she had ulterior motives in dressing Armand so simply; next to her opulence he was far more approachable, easy and trusting. She’d have everyone’s attention, leaving him to pursue their real mission: to stop the Empress from getting assassinated. "Absolutely not."

"Well," Armand said, with a comical tilt of the head, "Can I stab him if he stabs me first?"

"Hopefully you can manage capturing him before it comes to that." Vivienne’s tone was curt. "We need to get information about Gaspard’s movements from him."

"So I can stab him so long as I make it non-lethal?" Armand leapt in.

She looked at him. And held out her hand. With a sigh, Armand produced a dagger from… somewhere on his person. Dorian was impressed that he managed to hide it in such tight clothes. He placed it in her palm, and he held out both hands, making his face a perfect mask of innocence.

Dorian and Vivienne shared a look. This mission relied on a level of finesse that was a bit above Armand’s experience level. They’d have to be on their toes, reeling him in from doing anything to insult the stiff Orlesian nobles while on their mission. Knives and staves were not the weapon to bring to the royal court. They understood this. The Inquisitor, however, didn’t.

So Dorian moved towards him, and in one swift motion, pulled Armand into an embrace, his hands steady as they swept along his body. Armand sputtered, twisting against him, no doubt as red as could be at the very public display—‘very public’ meaning in front of Vivienne, who stood at attention with keen eyes at the amorous embrace.

And then Dorian stepped back, holding not one but two additional knives, one in each hand. He lifted an eyebrow at the sputtering young man standing before him, and Vivienne’s jaw dropped for a moment before she turned a powerful glare on Armand. He just gaped, trying to find something to say.

"This is the part where you come up with some kind of excuse," Dorian added helpfully, grinning as Armand whirled on him, eyes betrayed. It wasn’t often that Armand lost his cool, and Dorian was intent on enjoying the display of flashing eyes and reddened face.

"I’m… thinking…" he said slowly, and then gave up with a shake of his head. "Whatever. Let’s get this over with. Without stabbing anyone." 

Vivienne nodded, and after laying down her stolen blade, flounced to lead them all out of the room and to the awaiting carriage. Dorian moved to follow her, pausing to place the two daggers on a table. In that split second of hesitation, Armand was behind him, curving their bodies together, hands wandering.

Dorian stood up straight in shock, face burning and mind spinning. He looked at Armand, who smiled smugly and winked as he casually strolled through the door. ”Revenge comes swiftly, Magister.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Dorian followed him.

~

"Enjoying yourself?" Dorian sidled up to where Armand was standing against the wall, feeling the smallest bit surprised by how well Armand managed to blend into the crowd; after splitting up upon their initial entrance, he had barely seen the Inquisitor.

Armand shrugged with a tolerant grin. ”I’m passable.”

"No culture shock?" Dorian asked. "I had nearly been knocked on my ass when I first came to court."

The self-depreciating comment earned him the reward of Armand’s laughter. He shrugged. ”I’m actually rather used to it. It wasn’t too long ago that I was just another part of the rent-a-sword barrel. Ain’t that right, Percy?” he smacked the breastplate of the guard standing by him with one hand, and the man snorted.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Trev. You still owe me three crowns."

"Outlasting bonds of friendship," he deadpanned to Dorian, who had to chuckle. They stood amicably next to each other on the side of the dance floor, watching the colorful nobles swirl and spin around.

"I’m not particularly fond of the biddies, though," Armand admitted. "Trying to sell me off on one daughter or another. Madame de Ghislaine in particular wants me to marry dearest, most darling Charlize."

Dorian felt his spine stiffen. Charlize de Ghislaine was a famous beauty at court. A bit of an airhead. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dorian’s lofty title of Magister was dependent on his being a mage, he would have been thrown at her in his turn at his arrival at court.

But, more importantly, the Ghislaine family was sworn to dear Empress Celene, and had one of the largest household soldiering companies in all of Orlais. They had a powerful foot in the ongoing war, and their support would be hard-won and immensely helpful. Almost game-breaking, if Dorian was going to be honest with himself.

Charlize herself danced in a happy whirl on the floor, and Dorian spotted her with ease; and then he noticed how she would occasionally glance towards him—towards Armand—and he had never thought that a single glance could make him feel like he was being kicked repeatedly in the teeth.

Armand seemed not to notice the attention, carrying on about how Madame de Ghislaine had practically placed the familial wedding band on his hand as they had greeted each other, while Dorian tried to wet his dry mouth with a great gulp of wine. Then, he tried to speak with nonchalance.

"The Ghislaine family… has a large army at their command," he said.

"… Aye," was all Armand said in response, glancing at the Magister out of the corner of his eye. The calculated reply hit Dorian to the core and for a moment it took all of his control to not send a well-directed mage bolt in damned lovely Charlize de Ghislaine’s way.

Instead of doing that (and starting another war to add to their current pile), Dorian paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"And," he said slowly, "Charlize is not… horrible to look at."

Armand squinted at him, and in a rush Dorian continued, staring at damned beautiful Charlize Ghislaine on the dance floor, spinning with another lady as she laughed. ”It would surely be an advantageous match.” He tried not to sound too much like he was considering locking himself in his room back in Skyhold and never coming out again.

All at once, Armand’s face when slack and he seemed at a loss for words. ”Oh, for the love of—” he turned towards his guard acquaintance. ”Oi, Percy, point me towards a coat room, please.” He grabbed onto Dorian’s arm and steered him quickly towards where Percy had pointed.

The small side-room Armand dragged him into was dimly lit, one of many small antechambers that the servants of the palace could use to navigate out of sight. With the ball in full swing, they were deserted and only lit by what light filtered through small peek-holes drilled in the walls and hidden in the elaborate carvings on the other side.

"What—" Dorian began to say, and then Armand had him pressed against the wall,pressing their mouths together. The glass of wine still gripped in Dorian’s hand slipped through his fingers and hit the floor with a delicate crystalline smash.

Dorian could feel the veilmark burning with power through Armand’s gloves, pulsing with it as he pressed his hand against Dorian’s exposed neck, the side of his face. His heart was racing, and his breath was hitched as Armand broke off the kiss, his teeth catching on Dorian’s bottom lip in a gentle bite. Moaning, up against a wall in the dark, was not how Dorian saw this conversation going, and although he was terribly confused he was not all that disappointed.

"You listen to me," Armand breathed, face flushed. He held them still pressed together, and he pulled his hand back so Dorian could see the faint green light shining through the white silk. "I didn’t choose this," he said, and made a small gesture towards all of the surrounding castle, the surrounding end of the world, "I didn’t choose any of this." He placed his hand upon Dorian’s chest, right over his heart. "But I chose you. And I will always choose you. Do you understand?"

"I…" Dorian breathed, leaning in once more. Then, he paused, and felt Armand go still as well.

"Did you hear that?" Armand whispered, and they shared a look in the darkness. And then they ran.

The servant’s hallways! Of course! How could they think that the assassin would come through public channels? It was too perfect.

Dorian sprinted behind Armand as they chased the darkly-clothed figure through the twist and turn of hallways. Eventually the assassin made a sharp turn and burst into a well-lit area from behind a tapestry. Armand and Dorian were not far behind. But just far enough.

"Stop!" the assassin called, and Armand cursed as he skidded into the ballroom. The assassin stood over the Empress’s chair, one wicked looked dagger pressed to her throat.

With no other option, Dorian and Armand shared a look and raised their hands over their heads. Dorian winced, aware of what an image they cut: the two both sweating from the sprint and disheveled from their… private talk before they had spotted the intruder. Vivienne was going to have a field day. If they survived, of course.

Without his stave Dorian could do little but send a mage bolt at the assassin, and even then he would have no way of aiming; his chances of hitting the Empress were too high for him to even make the attempt. It was all up to Armand, who was looking quickly between the assassin and the Empress.

"Now," he said slowly, calmly, "Let’s not do anything hasty…"

"This world ends here!" the overdramatic assassin cawed, raising up his dagger above the Empress, who looked anything but intimidated. 

Armand, in contrast, seemed more annoyed than anything at the quick turn in the negotiations, huffing irritably. ”Oh, for the love of Andraste—” Armand lowered his hands, moved back one step, lining his body up, and then there was the flash of silverite in one hand and it moved through the air; the assassin fell with a pained shriek, the dagger buried up to the hilt in it’s upper chest. The nobles all gasped and began to panic.

"You see," Armand said loudly, calmly, gesturing smartly towards the fallen and twitching assassin, "You see what happens when you don’t let me do my damned job? Blood, all over your precious carpets."

One woman wailed particularly loudly. ”He killed him!”

"Pfft," Armand snorted, brushing off his doublet. "Please. I only winged him. He’ll be fine. Fine and plenty talkative."

He walked up to the assassin, who was making painful I-was-just-stabbed noises, and nudged him sharply with the tip of one boot. The responding moan made him grin, and he gestured downwards. ”See? Perfectly capable of speech.”

"Fuck you," the assassin wheezed in response, and Armand’s next kick was not gentle.

The Empress looked to be as well put together as she always was, not even reaching up to pat at her hair. She looked up at Armand from her seat and smiled in a controlled way. ”Inquisitor?” she asked sweetly, “if you would speak privately with me…”

Dorian caught Vivienne’s eye, and she looked confused as to how to respond. On one hand, they had stopped the assassination and won an audience with the Empress, but on the other hand Armand had rather obviously stabbed someone to get the job done.

Well. Win some, lose some.

~

"What was that you were saying earlier?" Dorian teased as he undressed. "Something about, oh, always choosing me…?"

Armand’s smile was hidden as he pulled his shirt over his head. ”Oh, did I say that?” The shirt cleared his face and his smile had turned into more of a smirk. ”Was that before or after you said, oh, what was it…?” and he spectacularly imitated Dorian’s moan.

The Magister chuckled, and walked across the room towards the Inquisitor, putting his hands on Armand’s hips and pulling the man in close. He grew serious, and licked his lips as he thought through what he wanted to say.

"I never…" he muttered, and glanced up at Armand, a faint smile on his mouth, "… you are far more than I ever expected of you," he said.

"So you’ve mentioned," Armand jumped in, and Dorian gave him a look to shut up and not ruin the moment.

"In Tevinter," Dorian continued, "I was never… chosen. Not for who I was, I mean. For who my family was. For what I could do. I suppose I only mean to say that… it will take some getting used to, being chosen without any of that," he finished awkwardly. 

Armand’s smile was soft as he lifted his arms over Dorian’s shoulders; they stood together as if dancing in the center of the Inquisitor’s quiet bedchamber.

"Well," Armand said softly as he touched their foreheads together, "I chose you. And I will always choose you. Over everything. Rain or shine, demons or Templars, dreaming or awake. I will always choose you.”

At a loss for words, Dorian kissed him.

When they parted—Armand panting and looking flushed—Dorian had to raise one eyebrow. ”One last thing,” he said.

"Hm?" Armand hummed.

"Where, for Andraste’s sake, were you keeping that dagger?"


End file.
